In the name of more we destroy
                             for coal the mountain and its forest
                             and so choose the insatiable flame.

                                          – Wendell Berry (“2008”)

It is the lazy nature of our dreams, wanting
that which we conceive – we float on lakes rising
while islands sink, despite repeated dawnings

and better sense. The hawk remodels his high nest
of twigs when the leaves come, refines efficiency
with practice – talon and beak to soar and feed

generations. He has his place in sycamores
along the creek – a Red Tail pair, chests bared
to winter sun when we hay horses waiting.

Do they, from the cold, bare branch, dream
of warm domesticity and dependence, a store
of gophers or wealth of squirrels, or do they

find us curious? The blueprints and templates
to gather plenty have endured, yet we feed
our future to the insatiable flame in our mind.

© 2011 Dry Crik Press

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